Safe and Sound
by BumbleLellie
Summary: Maybe-kinda-probs a one-shot about Beth and Daryl, not necessarily Bethyl. Daryl's thoughts as he and Beth flee from the prison and the aftermath, doesn't follow the series after mid-season finale xxx Beth tries to deal with losing her family, meanwhile Daryl is experiencing the same thing but wants to protect her.


**_Another song one-shot thingy mah-bob, though I may make it a small story should anyone want me to continue with it :D not necessarily Bethyl xxx_**

**_Its Daryl's voice but it's not too aggressive nor is it as hotheaded as perhaps he might be, but I find I like laying with his more calculated side. So calm Daryl POV. _**

**_Beth and Daryl – Safe and Sound (Me vs Reality cover- based off a youtube video guys!)_**

Beth and I ran together. And then ran and then ran, and we couldn't stop. Never stop running because we had nowhere to run to, so the only destination was forward, nothing else was going to save us. There was no other choice left. And yes, I might have preferred to have more survivors with us, to have supplies and a vehicle. But we didn't. So there's no use hoping that or even thinking about it. You just keep running.

And her legs were tired, and my heart was. I'm so tired of losing people, but she was still here, leading thought the brambles and thickets like a scared dear as the undead stumbled behind. I kept her where I could see her, needing to have her alive. We kept going, moving fast despite exhaustion and heart break at each step.

We found some house to hole up in, too bothered to care at all what this place might mean. It didn't mean nothing, because everything was gone. I had no home before the world went o shit, but the absence of something hurts less. As if the knowledge is the second side to the double sided blade you're left to hold onto. We had nothing, we had each other. But I was broken, and she was too.

She was barely eighteen, yellow hair and green eyes as if she consciously chose to juxtapose this darkening world. Beth couldn't be dark, even slipping into this depression before me, each step in the empty house letting her thing for the first time in hours. She was bright as the sun.

But her father was dead. Her sister was missing. She was an orphan, and although I was too, it dint matter because Beth didn't deserve it. Herschel had loved her and needed her, she was his little angel the mother to ricks child. And now what? It was impossible the Beth existed at all anymore. Not as her own entity. Perhaps long ago when she was a child playing in fields of long wheat you could call her a person. But apocalypse Beth was a maze of psychology portrayed on a moving figure for the benefit of the rest. And he knew it, and thought maybe others did too, but selfishly as long as she was alive they didn't care. Everyone had issues now.

I got up in the late afternoon, we hadn't reached here till the sun was set and midnight long gone. I sat up, hearing shuffling upstairs. Her armchair was empty, the blanket taken with her for protection, keeping out the cold and pain. I found her in the bathroom, knife posed on her wrist. Small red scratched lines her arms, but it didn't repulse me. She was going in shallow making the pain not the commitment to death. I looked at her pale face. And who am I to fix the broken heart of a broken child?

She looked caught between apologies and indignant humiliation, but it wasn't the worst way to cope. As long as she had the commitment to staying with me, then I couldn't tell her not to. It was her body, and it wasn't so long ago that I stabbed my liver with shot after shot to forget my own problems. She was so small, covered in the grey fleece of a blanket, only her head and outstretched bleeding arm in view. Like so weird ghost. I wanted to hold her to me, wipe away the tears and say something, but that wasn't what I did. So instead I turned my back, and went back to my sofa. We never knew when the next tie to rest would be.

It wasn't long before she slipped back in to her armchair. I could feel the greeny catlike eyes watching me, I was holding a politicians autobiography up, trying to read the jargon. The piercing and probably confused Beth wasn't the kind to confront me, nor anyone really. That's why I like her to be honest, this world has a lack of nice people. And Beth was nice and luckily protected, because without protection she still saw walkers as humans.

''Some days I feel like I'll disappear into nothing, and there's nothing to stop that.'' Her voice was small and accented as ever. It was her way of explanation, perhaps my reasoning was wrong. This wasn't the first time she'd done that, of course it wasn't. I looked across at her, she was perched like a bird ready for flight, waiting to hear my answer.

I remember the way my stomach churned, thinking how long ago I would have scoffed and moved on. Or how her sister would cry to hear that, her father would give her some quote of strength, and carol would hold her close. But he was none of these now. I remember the way she looked at me with uncensored eyes that first time letting me in as I answered. I remember her mused blonde hair hanging limply over her shoulder. I remember tears streaming down her face when I said:

"I'll never let you go".

And I don't know why I said it. I don't remember even thinking it, not at all, but the weird thing was I meant it. She was family to me now as much as Rick or Carol, or even Merle. And we were all dying slowly inside, but I can't help thinking that perhaps it was worse for her. What had she learnt of pain and suffering growing up? Nothing, she was sheltered and so small sat there in an arm chair. Her only family a dysfunctional redneck and the promising dream of a sister still breathing somewhere.

The sun outside seemed to be flickering with the weight of everything hitting us all at once. Hershel was dead, the group were scattered, the prison was gone. The shadows created by such matters made it impossible to even think about breathing properly ever again, as if the crash of the end of the world was happening all over again. And I was only more lonely and desperate than before. But this had to be a death sentence for us, I had to be strong until she was, then I could mourn in my own time. Because right now the shadows were eclipsing that radiance of light still held by her. She was different than the others, she was more broken than the rest of us, because she was more whole.

''We need to find the others-''

She leant in closer, eyes desperate but no words to convey her meaning. I could see the desperation, her face pulling into the first sob, eyes fluttering closed. She may not be a pretty crier, but she was always somehow beautiful. Her tears were ushered for fears of her sister and her father, the others she needed to find. These other people made her cry. I wanted to cry for myself. For the selfish reasons of being left alone, the pointlessness of how heavy my heart was, if I had left with my brother we he asked- but what does that matter? Because, I didn't. And, maybe, he would be alive now if I had. But maybe then, Beth wouldn't have been pulled out the prison when she lost her daddy.

I wish I were better. That I could alleviate her pain, or my own. But everyone always hurts here and that, paradoxically, almost hurts the most of all. I still have that feeling of wanting to hold her, mostly so because I don't think I can stand to look at her pain-etched face, that I'm sure is simply a mirror of my own.

I'm conscious we need to get supplies, our bodies are running on empty, only reason we haven't noticed is the sickness of grief, mourning and death. If you let those three things stop you, you last no longer than a day if you're lucky. So I get up, though I don't really want to. And I tie my laces tighter, grab my cross bow ready to leave. But this seems to only panic her, because she stand up.

''Don't leave me here alone.'' it's so small, broken and yet forceful, that I have no decision to make. I just give her enough time to pull her own boots on properly. I try not to look at the injured arm, the crossed lines of months upon months of work. Anxiety gets us all. But it's still hard to imagine her looking after the baby and singing so softly, when this was the reality. It tainted those months at the prison somehow, like we'd neglected her, we hadn't seen. Or maybe no one had cared enough to.

I could resent her for it, but I don't. Instead I hand her my knife, hoping I can shoot any danger and that's the back up. I die, Beth survives. That's my last minute plan. I can't take any more losses. It would finish me. I think this as we sneak into the next house on the block, the kitchen's picked clear, but we find some hard candies that are soft at the bottom of a purse. We suck on them as we head across to the next house.

I was right, it was late afternoon. I don't want to spend more than half an hour looking in these houses, but if there's no food we'll stop in which ever one we get to last. A building to sleep in, is simply just that. No matter where we pick, we're going to miss our cots back home anyway. Eventually we find a bag of crisps on top of some kitchen cabinets and a bottle of non-alcoholic wine. Personally, I'd prefer some real numbing love from wine, but that won't help anyone. And Hershel would roll over in his grave.

We eat in grave silence, barricading ourselves in the upstairs master suite. I don't want to be alone, and my guess is she doesn't either. So I make it look like I'm here for her, and not my own childish worries she could slip away in the night. She doesn't speak anymore, and I judge the situation as a 'she needs her space'. And I smoke and nibble at the stale salty taste of crisps, and my mind flies backwards and forwards in my own stubbornness to the prison. I don't want to think about the people, or the dead, or the undead. But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight. It's useless, no need to bother with it all. Those memories are over.

She laying on the bed, I've coxed her into nibbling with me. Her body seems to want it more than her head, and that in itself is a problem. Hunger only makes it worse, trust me, I know. I can see her pale face reflecting back in a mirror, but without that it's simply her blonde hair over the covers, spread out in a fantastical and absurd echo of some childhood fairytale princess. I can tell when she falls asleep, giving into the exhaustion her body gets less tense and her breathing deepens. And I'm glad she's asleep, but can't lie that I worry she'll only relive it all again. That's a fear for myself too.

When I lie down I take on the irrational thoughts at a more brisk pace. I yell at myself to just go to sleep, but it's not working. Everything and anything could hurt us. This has made me feel vulnerable, and I can't show it outwardly, so instead it plagues me at night. Rolling over again, I'm conscious I may wake her, which would be unfair, so I change tact. Instead of yelling at myself I try to say reasonable things, instructing myself s I would a child. Just close your eyes, and I let them shut, holding them probably too tightly. I loosen them next, keeping them closed but relieving the pressure, you'll be alright. And I think how we're barricades in here, have been for hours. Nothing bad can happen. No one can hurt us now. And come morning light, I'll wake up exactly in this position with Beth beside me, her hair spilling across the pillow. You and I'll be safe and sound.

And I woke up safely. Her still beside me, and it seemed we had both thankfully evaded thoughts and images of anything worse than the typical apocalyptic night. But we needed a plan, and stale grape juice wasn't going to get us far for long.

And there was no place to go back to other than the broken remnants of the only home I ever had. But now the dead would be wandering and the people, my family, they'd be amongst them. And it hurt to breathe when I thought of that. And I knew the girl beside me could do so much, but this wasn't something she could face. Her father had died there, but we needed to think smart and survive.

We wandered down the street of houses, cleared either by the governor or ourselves, if survivors of the prison weren't found soon they'd have to move out. Scavengers can't stay in one place forever. We found a car, we found the keys too. It wasn't the safest or fastest or most enduring, but it would do. She was shaking before she had done up her belt, every part of her physicality rejecting the plan. And I was with her, it was grim, but it was smart. We'd picked nearby clear, I knew that better than anyone else, the only place with enough to keep us going for more than a day at a time was there.

So we drove. And I put the old cd on in case she cared to listen, hoping it might calm her. Was I responsible for Beth now, or was she for herself, perhaps it was Maggie's job? I honestly don't know, but I felt a responsibility to do it. For Herschel perhaps, or my own inner peace. Conceivably because if Beth wasn't alive I don't think I could find a single thread of anything to hold onto. She had it worse, and as awful as it sounds, her sticking at it made me a dick for not. As unconventional as it was to have your reason for living was some girl not committing suicide, it worked.

As we drove up the final stretch of gray tarmac I could see her breathing hitch, so I went faster pulling up outside the gates. They were closed shut, ironically as if they could protect us. Instead they held the danger where we wanted to be. I doubted myself, I wasn't sure I was strong enough to do this. What if I saw thing, people we knew? Keep Beth alive.

''Beth, Beth darlin'?'' She was crying, I tried to coax her with my voice, but nothing less than me physically pulling her face to me, snapped her into reality. Grabbing the weapons and pulling them off the back seats to distribute between us, I looked up at her. Her head was tilted back to the window, she could see a bit of the fence, walkers milling around, gathered around bloodied remains still. A desperate sob made me bring her focus back again.

''Don't look out your window, don't you dare. I'm gonna open the gates and then we're gonna run to the cell block got it? Take down only walkers that grab you, and only look ahead.''

I needed to blinker her. It was the only way, hoping the fires of destruction wouldn't burn her if she shielded her eyes. Of course, flames can lick at you even if you don't see them. I prised the gates open with seemingly little interest of local walkers, using a block of wood to create a gap big enough for me, and therefore for Beth. Then I ran back to the car, opening her door and pulling her out. Somehow it was relieving to feel that she was in fact solid and human and warm. But there was little time to think about that as we ran.

The yard was worse than I had thought, the smell of death hit like a cushioned wall, dizzying and over powering. So I grabbed her hand, pulling her in front of me, unbelieving that we were back here at all. The walkers were either to full to bother chasing us or so ravenous and copious that they attacked with renewed energy. For her part Beth caught a few off guard, clearing the path of danger and staying focused. Good, focused was good.

The steel doors shut behind us with a satisfying click that promised safety, but the danger was yet to be fully over, there would inevitably be those walkers we just trapped in with ourselves. The war of walkers could be heard as we swept the block for danger, they banged with rage-filled fists and moans. We found only seven walkers in this section, and I shut the steel barred door that connected the next cell block. Better to do this bit by bit.

Beth was in the cells upstairs, I trusted her to find the necessary things, perhaps even let her change and get her own belongings. It would help to have something familiar for wherever we headed next. When I heard her scream I was up the steps two at a time, it was too soon to lose her. I couldn't be on my own. Not yet. Please God, not yet.

Beth was stabbing a walker repeatedly in the head, crying loudly and maddeningly hitting it again and again though it long since gave up fighting back. It reminded me of how I was when merle died, and I think that's what made my heart stop beating and instead of fighting it again, I pulled her into my arms. I supported her entire weight, holding her close and rocking her slightly as she screamed in pain. The walker had chosen a bad time to creep put from the floor of a room and grab her ankle.

In the scuffle Beth had knocked over an old jewelry box. Some Woodbury citizen had stored long lost memories of wedding rings, knick-knacks and photographs in it. The contents lay on the floor now, unneeded and unloved because its owner was gone and no longer needed reminding of the old life. Objects mean nothing when their person isn't there. The old box played out eerie music, only being heard as Beth calmed down. The music seemed to pacify Beth somewhat, she held onto the notes as if they meant a damn thing. I noticed I was rocking her to the lullaby, and contemplated stopping. But the tune slowed as the box unwound, slowing down until it hit a final pang. And the music was gone. But I held her. Because the music isn't the only thing missing. Everything had been taken. Gone.

I didn't want her to be going through this anymore, so I gave her my warmth and my strength, letting her catch up with herself. The last thing I needed to do was push her and have her go into shock or worse. Just close your eyes, no one can hurt you now. I wouldn't let them. We had to be a team now.

And we run together. We travel, we scavenge, we search- but we never settle. We can't not here, this place has too many memories. It takes us weeks to be brave enough to leave the immediate area. She says her prayers every night, holing up in a room with me still. It's obvious but taboo to mention that we're both so broken we can't sleep apart. Like children. But we wake every morning alive, and that's a blessing in itself. Somewhere along the line she stopped hurting herself in the early hours when she thought I didn't feel the shirt in the mattress, or the small quiet crying as she sat against the door. And I never mentioned it. She never did either.

Beth smiled now. Sometimes even it being us two we could find something, anything to talk about. The hours in the car were the best. The tension dissipated simply just for being on the move, and it's then we shared all of our thoughts. The intensity of her trust and faith made it impossible to be without her again, and I knew when one of us went, so did the other. It didn't repulse or hinder me though. I knew her so well, laying down to bleed open for her would be a privilege not a sacrifice.

Each day took us further and further west, traveling away from the large cities. I come off explosive sometimes, and Beth can come off weak. The irony of the situation is that I'm made of weakness and Beth's back bone is made of sharp defensive temper. But we make it work. It ain't peaches and cream by any means, but we're living. And we're rebuilding. What else could you ask of a couple of survivors?

She was unquestionably stronger, and so was I. We stood on the border of Georgia, further than either of us wanted to head. It was like leaving an entire chunk of our lives behind us. There was no guarantee that Alabama would be any different, or that it could be much the same. And I don't know which I worse to face. One step condemned any living family to a life of exclusion and separation. But we have each other. I look across at her shining face of serious contemplation, and she holds my hand. Because we'll do this together, as one.

You and I'll be safe and sound.

**_Thank you for reading! Xxxx I'd appreciate the thoughts xx_**


End file.
